


A Change of Plan

by Dynapink



Category: The Virginian - Owen Wister
Genre: Childbirth, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Death in Childbirth, Kidfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 07:01:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5447462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dynapink/pseuds/Dynapink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Virginian and his old friend plan a trip together,  but something more important keeps him at home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Change of Plan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nchi_wana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nchi_wana/gifts).



One late fall morning I presented myself at the Virginian’s home, as per our previous arrangement, the plan being to hunt deer when they are just becoming most plentiful. His and Molly’s firstborn son, being then just nine years of age, was to accompany us on his very first hunt.

I discerned shortly upon my arrival that the boy’s mother was less than perfectly happy with the plan. Nine, at least according to the standards of her Vermont upbringing, was perhaps slightly too young to take to the outdoors with a rifle, even in the company of such a responsible man as his father. But in this, she demurred to her husband’s wishes. I had little idea of what was considered usual in this, or indeed any, part of the country, having no sons myself, at least not one living.

I put her fears for her offspring down to her imminent confinement, for it had become quickly obvious to my eyes that the Virginian’s family was shortly to increase. Naturally, discretion forbade anyone’s making mention of this pleasant fact. I was, I am not ashamed to admit candidly, rather more than pleased to observe the strict proprieties for at that time in my life I was especially sensitive with regards to that facet of life, my own wife having perished in childbed not two years prior to this, along with our newborn son.

I had a day and a night in which to observe the little family before we were to depart on our planned trip. At that time the Virginian’s family numbered four, including Jason, the aforementioned nine-year-old about to embark on one of life’s great adventures for the first time. There were two other sons, seven-year-old Woody – his proper name was John Wood, after Molly’s father, but local custom had bestowed the nickname on him in preference to Johnny – and Henry Stephenson, aged about four. “We usually just call him Steve,” the Virginian told me, with a look which dared me to pass judgment. The youngest, aged about two, was called Jessie, and was the possessor of a most impressive crop of thick, bright curls. Jessie, being still the baby as well as the only female, was naturally somewhat of a pet to her father. If the Virginian were seated, and his daughter awake and nearby, it was but a moment before she took possession of his lap.

At those moments I scarcely felt I knew my old friend, so different was he to the man I was used to seeing. Tenderness I had seen from him often, particularly with his Molly, but never before the gentle reverence with which he regarded his little girl. His paternal affection for his three boys was altogether different, by turns boisterous and teasing, or stern if the situation called for it.

It was during one of those moments, as he sat holding his daughter, that I brought up the story of the baby swap he and Lin McLean had pulled in the distant past. Finding the babies of the area together and untended in the kitchen during a get-together, the two pranksters had swapped their clothes and their positions so that each family went home with the wrong offspring, only discovering the switch after their arrival at their own homes. It had taken a good part of the next day to undo the damage. The Virginian had laughed heartily when he first told me this story, and many times since, so that I was surprised to observe he was not laughing now, but sat looking grave and remorseful.

“Well, I suppose these days, having a family of your own puts a different perspective on it,” I said to him.

The Virginian was silent for a moment, his right hand stroking his daughter’s curls. Then he said, “Yu’ know, even at the time I thought I got off too easy. But now I think I might kill a man who’d do that.”

I considered that, and him. I thought he might, too.

***

In the morning, upon awaking I discovered preparations to leave, but not on the hunting trip I was anticipating. Molly’s pains had begun in the night, several weeks ahead of her time.

The Virginian was looking haggard in the early morning light as he saddled his old Monte horse, preparatory to sending his boy Jason for Mrs. Henry.

“Would you like me to ride for the doctor?” I offered, but he shook his head.

“No. Judge’s wife’ll know what to do.”

I thought it likely this was true, so I settled myself down for a long and uncomfortable day of waiting. When Judge Henry’s wife arrived, she scolded us men thoroughly for allowing the children to be here, and banished us all to the barn and outdoors. Little Jessie cried for Molly now and again, but she was mostly happy as long as she had her father’s undivided attention. The boys, irritable at being cooped up and nervous over what was happening to their mother, were overjoyed at the prospect of many hours out of the house. There were chores to do around the property, so with their help I assisted the hands with them, although doubtless we were all more of a hindrance to them than a help.

During this long day I thought of my own wife more often than I would have preferred, but I suppose that is only inevitable under the circumstances. 

“I’m sorry, friend,” the Virginian said to me once, noticing for the first time the state of my nerves. “I plumb forgot.” He rested a gentle hand on my shoulder. Reaching up, I laid my own hand on top of his and forgave him the oversight. It was the only time either of us spoke of it.

The children were bedded down cozily in the hayloft and the Virginian and I played cards by the light of a lantern on the barn floor, when Mrs. Henry came to get us. It must have been nearly midnight.

“It’s another boy,” she said, opening the barn door just enough to peer inside at us. “They’re both fine. You can see them in the morning,” she added, forestalling the anxious father, who had flung down his cards and was even now making for the door.

He stopped in his tracks, thought about arguing, and then nodded his acquiescence. “She’ll want to sleep some, anyway,” he said.

Accordingly, in the morning, the Virginian went to see his new son, returning cock-a-hoop a half hour later.

“What a boy!” he enthused. “Six pounds and lusty as can be. What an appetite. Never think he come early. I think Molly must’ve figured her dates wrong,” he added indelicately.

Owing to certain delicate matters to which I was obviously not privy, it was late afternoon of the following day before I was allowed my first look at the latest addition.

Molly, in the bed, seemed pert enough but had yet to recover her strength, so it was the Virginian who took the child from her arms and brought him to me to be admired. This baby seemed to me to be much like any other in face, form, and disposition, unremarkable in other words, but I did my best to find something distinctive to remark upon. I believe I mumbled something about how well-formed and handsome his ears were. It seemed to please his parents.

“He has the Stark ears,” Molly agreed smugly. “He’s the first one of my children to have them.”

The Virginian said nothing. He gazed upon the face of this newborn son sleeping in his arms with such pride and contentment that for a moment I envied him. For the first time I understood that although little Jessie might be the apple of his eye, she was no more precious to him than any of his other children. It fit in with what I had always known of the Virginian, and I cleared my throat so as to breathe clearly again.

Partly to have something to say, and partly to call their attention to my forgotten presence, I asked them what they were planning to call the little fellow. The Virginian and Molly looked at one another. The Virginian, to my considerable surprise, repeated my own name back to me, adding, “No offense, friend, but I aim to raise this’un so’s no man will ever have a reason to call him Tenderfoot.”

I agreed that would be best for all concerned, and then tiptoed out of the room, seeing they wanted to be alone again.

***

I left earlier than I intended, as circumstances had rather altered our original plans for the week. Perhaps it was for the best; perhaps the Virginian and his oldest boy would be better off alone together after all. I wished them all luck and happiness, and took myself off to spend a few days as the guest of Judge Henry.

As I headed off alone, I remembered that it was the judge’s invitation for a visit which had first brought the Virginian and me together, and was thus responsible for this unlikely friendship which had endured for so many years, and would likely endure for the rest of our days.


End file.
